


7. Lift

by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG



Series: Twinkstober 2020 [7]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Kink Discovery, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Manhandling, Mutual Masturbation, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Scenting, Scents & Smells, Spit As Lube, Strength Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26895268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG
Summary: Twinkstober 2020Prompt: liftJaskier is not subtle, but Geralt isn't very perceptive.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Twinkstober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923553
Comments: 15
Kudos: 490





	7. Lift

**Author's Note:**

> I literally fell asleep writing this last night, trying to finish in time, and then I woke up with a splitting headache so. Fun times.

In hindsight, Geralt really should have noticed it earlier. He's usually pretty perceptive, he thinks, especially when it comes to people's emotions. As a Witcher, it's smart to be aware of how the people paying for his services feel at any given moment.

Why, exactly, he missed this very important fact about who is easily his closest friend, he has no idea.

The first time he really notices is four or five years into their acquaintance. Jaskier had tripped rather badly while running away from a ghoul (because the thrice cursed bard _never listens_ and had to tag along instead of waiting at the inn), spraining his ankle. He'd said it wasn't that bad, _really, Geralt, don't fuss, I can walk_ , and Geralt, perhaps foolishly, had believed him.

Twenty minutes out of the village, Jaskier had started limping, face twisting with every step, and Geralt had tugged Roach to a stop, sliding off her back.

"Come here," he'd said, taking Jaskier by the waist and hauling the surprised man up onto the horse's back. Jaskier still smelled distinctly of pain, but beneath that was another scent, warm and spicy, one that spiked when Geralt lifted him off the ground.

Jaskier had thanked him, Geralt "Hm"ed at him, and put the really rather pleasant scent out of his mind.

But it kept happening.

Hoisting Jaskier over a wall to help the idiot get away from a cuckolded husband, lifting him in a library to reach a book high up on a shelf, pulling him up a particularly tricky spot in the path on their way up a mountain - every time Jaskier's scent would change, flare with that spicy note that made Geralt's mouth water.

Yep, he _really_ should have figured this out ages ago.

They've gotten a room for the night, purses not exactly full but comfortable, and Jaskier made a deal with the innkeeper that, if he entertains for the evening, they only pay half. Geralt sits in the corner, a tankard of ale in front of him, and watches the bard perform. He's in good spirits today, flirting shamelessly with men and women alike. It's something Geralt has witnessed many times, and he half expects to have the room to himself tonight, with how much effort Jaskier puts into his performance.

But then Jaskier catches his eye across the room as he belts out a particularly bawdy tune, and winks at him. He starts leading the crowd into the chorus, loud and with a lot of clapping, and then he takes the hand of one of the girls closest to him, pulls her to her feet and spins her around. His free hand pushes his lute behind his back, and then he takes the girl by the waist and lifts her, spins her in a wide circle that makes her skirts fly, both of them laughing.

When he has put her back on her feet, he looks at Geralt again, a glint in his eye, and just then the door opens behind the bard, the gust of air blowing inside carrying his scent over to Geralt, and the realisation of just what it is he's been smelling on Jaskier all these years hits him like a ton of bricks.

 _Huh_.

Jaskier finishes his set after two more songs, begging a break from his audience, "Eat, drink, and be merry! I shall return in but a moment, for my throat is _terribly_ parched!" He bows, taking the applause as his due, and then makes his way over to Geralt with a wide grin. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes sparkling, and he drops onto the bench next to him. "There's _nothing_ quite like an adoring public," he says, still grinning as he takes Geralt's tankard and drinks.

"I wouldn't know," Geralt says, taking back his tankard, "and get your own drink."

The bard huffs. "You could know, if you weren't quite so _grumpy_ all the time."

Geralt hums, and signals the barmaid for a drink for Jaskier. "That was a neat trick," he says once it arrives, "lifting that girl like that." Jaskier stiffens ever so slightly beside him, too subtle for anyone but a Witcher to notice. "Looked like she enjoyed it quite a bit."

He's watching Jaskier out of the corner of his eye, watches how he takes a long drink of his ale before setting the tankard back on the table. "You have to engage the audience," he says after another moment, "and that's a safe way of getting your hands on them." He winks and smiles, but now Geralt can see through his facade.

"Hm, I guess so."

He sits quietly then, letting the silence stretch between them, and finally Jaskier says, "It's quite _exhilarating_ , you know? Being swept off your feet like that." His voice is airy, wistful, and Geralt inhales. There it is again, that warm scent that he now recognises as desire, and Jaskier turns his head and looks at him. There's colour high on his cheeks, quite different from the flush of performing earlier, and his eyes are dark, far darker than the relative gloom of the inn warrants. "Trusting someone like that, to not let you fall," and he half turns towards Geralt, licks his lips.

Geralt leans forward a little, just shifting his weight to the side really. Jaskier's breath hitches, almost too quietly to hear. "Needs someone strong," he murmurs, and Jaskier blinks at him, his flush darkening.

"Geralt, I-"

The Witcher places a hand on Jaskier's knee under the table, squeezing gently. "Go entertain your adoring audience, they're waiting."

Jaskier looks _very_ flustered now, his breath quick and his heart beating fast, and he licks his lips again. "I won't need to find company tonight," he says, and it's half statement, half question.

Geralt shakes his head. "Not if you don't want to."

Jaskier swallows hard, blinks a couple of times and takes a deep breath. "Alright," he says softly. Geralt squeezes his knee again, then lets go.

The rest of Jaskier's performance is a little off-kilter to Geralt's eye, but he knows the patrons won't notice. The bard smiles and flirts and whirls around the room like he always does, and it's only many years of knowing him that allow Geralt to see the difference. He's usually more tactile, stroking a finger over someone's cheek, clapping his hand onto somebody else's shoulder, things like that, but now he does none of this. He still winks and throws kisses as he dances around the small space by the hearth, but he doesn't touch anyone, and his gaze seeks out Geralt far more often than normal.

Something has shifted between them, something that almost feels like it was inevitable in the long run. Back in Cintra, Jaskier had dubbed himself Geralt's very best friend in the whole wide world, all those years ago, and even back then it had probably been true. It's definitely true now.

It's late when Jaskier finishes, closing with a soft love song that sends his audience into the night pliant and pleasantly warm, and anticipation blooms in Geralt's chest. He knows what the bard smells and sounds like when he has sex, knows how he feels pressed against him (even autumn gets cold in the north, and sharing body heat is the only sensible option a lot of the time). Now he'll find out what Jaskier sounds like having sex _with him_ , and his cock twitches at the thought.

Jaskier pockets his purse, now substantially heavier than it was before, and nods to the innkeeper before making his way over to Geralt. "Shall we," he asks, and Geralt warms at the slight tremble in his voice.

He lets Jaskier lead the way to their room. There's a hint of nervousness in his scent now, but the warm note of his desire remains, wafting in his wake like perfume, and Geralt breathes deeply.

Once in the room, they both rid themselves of their things before turning towards each other. Jaskier, who he knows to be nothing but a confident lover, judging by the sounds the man can draw out of his partners, looks a little uncertain, despite the pleasing scent that still envelops him.

"We don't have to do this," Geralt says quietly, despite the disappointment that washes over him at the thought, "if you're not sure."

"No, I'm- I'm _sure_ , Geralt," the bard says, comes closer. "I've been thinking about this for... a long time." He huffs a laugh, then shrugs his shoulders. "I guess it hasn't really registered with my brain that it's actually happening."

"Come here," Geralt says, and then reels him in with an arm around his waist, until they're chest to chest, and Jaskier's eyes flutter closed as he tips his head back. Geralt doesn't need to be told twice. He leans down and presses his lips to Jaskier's mouth, and the bard winds his arms around his neck and opens easily for Geralt's tongue.

The Witcher slides his hands down Jaskier's sides, over the swell of his ass, and then grabs his thighs and hoists him up. Jaskier gasps against his lips, his legs going around Geralt's waist. "Fuck, Geralt, that's..." His scent spikes again, all traces of uncertainty gone, replaced entirely by warm arousal. _Cinnamon_ , Geralt thinks, that's what it reminds him of.

He walks them over to the wall, holds Jaskier against it. He can feel the bard's cock, hardening against his stomach, and he slides his hands back to Jaskier's ass, squeezes. "Good," he asks, and Jaskier laughs breathlessly, nods.

"Yes, darling, _so_ good," he breathes, and Geralt's stomach does an odd little flip at the endearment. Jaskier calls him 'dear' all the time, that he's used to. But 'darling'? That's new, and Geralt decides he _likes_ it.

He lets Jaskier slide down a little, until he almost sits on Geralt's thighs, until he can tilt his hips closer and let the bard know just how much this is affecting him. Jaskier moans against his mouth, arms tightening around his neck.

"Geralt, please." The Witcher kisses down Jaskier's throat as he digs his fingers into the meat of his ass, and Jaskier groans and rocks against him, arms tight like he expects Geralt to stumble. When he doesn't, when he stays right there, steady, Jaskier makes a sound of delight, and with his legs still around Geralt's hips, starts rutting against him. "Fuck, you feel wonderful." He gasps again when Geralt sucks on the spot just beneath his ear. "I've wanted this for _so long_ ," and heat shoots through Geralt.

"Why didn't you say something?"

Jaskier huffs another laugh. "Didn't think you'd be interested in me like that."

Geralt slots them together, the drag of their cocks against each other making Jaskier groan, and rocks against him. "You were wrong," he rumbles against Jaskier's ear, and the bard turns his head and kisses him hungrily.

When Jaskier's movements get a little more desperate, when he starts to whine into Geralt's mouth, Geralt takes one hand off of his ass, shifting his weight a little to keep his balance, and Jaskier's arms tighten around him.

"I got you," Geralt purrs, and when Jaskier relaxes with a shiver, he slides his hand between them. He undoes their trousers with quick fingers, and when he pulls Jaskier's cock free, the bard's head thumps back against the wall with a groan.

When Geralt has freed his own cock, he closes his hand around them both, and Jaskier's scent intensifies again. "Oh _sweet goddess_ ," he gasps, fingers going into Geralt's hair and twitching when Geralt starts to move his hand.

"We should get the oil," he murmurs, eyes fixed on Jaskier's face, on the way his jaw has gone slack and how his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. The bard is always open with his emotions with him, but this? _This is a gift_ , Geralt thinks.

Jaskier's lips stretch into a grin and he looks down between their bodies. "Don't need oil," he murmurs, leans a little closer, and then there's the hot wetness of his saliva on Geralt's fingers, sliding down as he strokes them.

" _Fuck, Jask_ -" He groans against the bard's crown, and Jaskier spits again, and again, the slide of flesh against flesh easier, slicker, and when Jaskier lifts his head again, there's a devilish glint in his eyes. Geralt surges forward and kisses him, hard and nipping at his lower lip, growling into his mouth when Jaskier responds enthusiastically.

They rock into each other as Geralt strokes them, Jaskier's voice in his ear as he keeps up a constant stream of filth, "Look at that beautiful cock, so good, Geralt, can't _wait_ to have that inside me, fuck, _yesyesyes_ ," and when Jaskier stiffens in his arms, eyes squeezed tightly closed, he growls against his throat and Jaskier comes with a shout. Geralt buries his face against his shoulder, lets the bard's seed ease the way even more, and the hot slide and Jaskier's breathy moans of threatening overstimulation tip him over the edge.

Jaskier clings to him, pressing gentle kisses to his hair and cheek, until they have both caught their breath. "That was _phenomenal_ ," he says, leaning back against the wall, trusting Geralt with his entire weight. He looks debauched, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, smiling happily, and Geralt kisses him again, just because he can.

Later, when they're all tangled up in each other in one of the beds (there are two, yes, but what's the point, really), Geralt watches as Jaskier drifts off into sleep, and inhales again. There's still that undercurrent of cinnamon, but now it's overlaid with what he knows to be Jaskier's happiness, like freshly baked bread, and he tugs him closer.

He really should have trusted his nose a long time ago, he thinks as he follows Jaskier into sleep.


End file.
